The ICARUS Project
by Oni-Gil
Summary: A KH/FF7 crossover. A small group of terrorists fights to defeat a mega-corporation and save the Planet. Rated for some language, violence, mild m/m.
1. The Stranger

**A/N:** A KH/FF7 crossover sounds like an oxymoron, but this one is much more 7 than anything else! Playing FF7 is not required for the enjoyment of the fic... everything vital to the story will be, duh, explained in the story. XD

This will be some sort of odd mix of the plots and characters of both (/all in the universe, such as KH2, Dirge of Cerberus, Advent Children, the works) games, so I can't offer a better summary than the one on the main page.

Credit goes to abbysarajane and leafzelindor of Livejournal for Hojo's first name. u.u

Every chapter starts with a flashback. It's not italicized because that's really hard to read in large amounts, so don't be confused!

Enjoy!

* * *

**1. The Stranger**

* * *

CFile 01: Lightsedge, Ansem: The governor of Radiant Garden. Highly popular. Rumored connection with AVALANCHE, unproven. Studied under Professor Gast.

CFile 02: ?, Xehanort: No information is known. Investigation pending.

* * *

IFile 01: Shin-Ra Electric Co., The: Once a weapons manufacturer, the company took a new turn on the discovery of mako power. The company sometimes comes under fire for "questionable" tactics. It is Midgar's top employer and keeps the economy flowing.

IFile 02: AVALANCHE: A group of terrorists or heroes, depending on who is asked. Anti-Shin-Ra. No one knows who the leader is. Famous for having contacts in useful places.

* * *

_26 Years Earlier._

Ansem leaned forward, tea forgotten on the table.

"Byron, listen to me," he urged again. "You _must_ leave Shin-Ra."

His friend laughed, still unmoved.

"I have to make a living, Ansem," he said. "I have a family to support. You've been making it on your own, but you aren't feeding a wife and son. What's wrong with Shin-Ra? It's always served us well."

"Do you remember our teacher?" Ansem asked. Byron rolled his eyes.

"Of course," he said. "Professor Gast is a brilliant man. I know he left, and I know you followed his example, but that doesn't mean that I—"

"He's dead," Ansem interrupted. This was obviously news to Byron, for he stared.

"I didn't know," he said finally.

"Shin-Ra covered it up," Ansem told him. "He was killed two weeks ago."

"Why would they cover it up?" Byron asked. His relaxed posture had straightened. He was both intrigued and concerned. Ansem had hoped that the news of their teacher's death would alert him to the seriousness of the situation.

"Because it was their operation," he said, and Byron frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Ansem said, picking his words carefully, "that the Professor had something that Alex wanted. And you know as well as I that whatever Alex wants, he gets."

Byron shook his head, and Ansem inwardly berated himself for going too far, too fast.

"Alex wouldn't do that," Byron scoffed.

"Alex would do anything to get his hands on a Cetra."

"But Jenova—"

"—is _not_ a Cetra. That's why the Professor left."

Byron was silent, and for a moment Ansem felt sure that he would listen. Then he shook his head.

"I don't believe that," he said. "I have no reason to leave Shin-Ra."

"They'll come after you soon," Ansem said, dropping his voice and leaning closer still. "Byron, you have to listen. Think of Lucrecia. Think of your son. Shin-Ra will want more like Sephiroth."

"He's only four years old!"

"Yes, and already he's showing incredible strength, intelligence, power they've never seen. They won't be satisfied with just one… no, what if his brother has this sort of strength, too?"

"He's only his half-brother," Byron protested, but he looked anxious. "He doesn't. That's why we waited two years, to make entirely sure…"

"But he _might_," Ansem interrupted. "And Lucrecia. They'll want her to produce more—"

"Produce?" Byron cried, standing. "Is that all she is to them? A _uterus?_"

"Sadly, yes," Ansem said, raising a supplicating hand. "Byron, Alex wants both of them, and all Shin-Ra needs is an excuse. They'll claim that you are in contact with AVALANCHE."

"But we aren't," Byron argued, incredulous. Ansem sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Yes, you are," he said quietly. He and Byron watched each other for a long moment. Byron was disbelieving.

"Alex would never… Ansem, no."

Byron hadn't sat back down. This was a bad sign, Ansem knew. He stood as well, sensing that this home was no longer open to him.

"Alex is our friend," Byron insisted. "I know him. He's not what you seem to think."

Ansem sighed, gathering up his coat from the arm of the couch.

"Think of your family," he pleaded, one last time. Byron shook his head.

"You're wrong, Ansem."

Ansem glanced at the long-cold tea, shook his head in resignation, heard the sounds of mother and child laughing in the kitchen, and gave up.

"I'll show myself out," he said.

* * *

_Present._

Regret still clung to the governor of Radiant Garden. Cobwebs in the back of his mind could be brushed away with the slightest reminder, baring his failures for all the world to see. If only he had tried harder. If only he had stayed to help. Perhaps if he'd turned himself in, "terrorists" wouldn't have attacked Kalm. Perhaps Lucrecia would still be alive…

The most reliable way to escape the shadows of the past was to walk among his people, to bask in the light surrounding his adopted home. Shin-Ra could not reach him here, not around those who supported him, although SOLDIER patrols watched him suspiciously from street corners. If he ever set a toe in Midgar, he knew it would be a different story. Although he was not a wanted man, mere rumors of involvement with AVALANCHE would be enough of an excuse for Shin-Ra.

The only unusual thing about today was that there were more SOLDIERs on the street than was normal. Ansem smiled to himself when he thought back to three hours ago. He hadn't been there himself, of course, but Biggs and Wedge had assured him that the explosion of the Sector 1 mako reactor had been spectacular. The loss of life was regrettable, and Ansem had been unhappy about the blast radius. Barrett hated Shin-Ra unconditionally, however, and he didn't much care; Sector 1 was mostly Shin-Ra employees.

The SOLDIERs were watching any suspected member of AVALANCHE closely, so he avoided his usual haunts. As he surreptitiously observed them, he saw that they moved in a predictable search pattern. They were combing the city for something, or someone. Whatever was going on at Shin-Ra, they'd hear about it from Reeve soon enough.

Perhaps Fate guided his steps, or perhaps merely Chance. Ansem had never put much store in luck or in deities, but later he would thank them. Higher power or not, he spotted a lump of something hidden away behind a deserted stall. After a cursory glace around to ensure that no SOLDIERs were watching, he ducked around to look.

It was a young man, dirty, thin, but well-built. He was clothed entirely in black leather, meant for action but too generic to identify him by. He carried no visible weapons, but in today's world that meant nothing. His features were hard and exotic. He was curled out of sight of the main road. His fist was clenched tightly around something. He watched Ansem with amber eyes. There was something… wrong there. There was inhumanity. He held himself like a feral beast, ready to fight or flee.

Ansem crouched wordlessly before him at a safe distance, making himself look as non-threatening as possible. This man wasn't from the Garden; he prided himself on knowing all the people in the small city by name or at least face. After a while, Ansem said, "I'm not going to hurt you."

The man drew back, surprise and suspicion crossing his face.

"They," he said, and seemed to struggle for words. "They're searching. For… me?"

"Are they?" Ansem asked. The man looked confused and faintly frantic now. "Who are you?"

The man shook his head.

"I… I killed… a man," he said. "I think. I ran."

"Who are you?" Ansem repeated. "Where did you come from?"

The man shook his head again, tensing. Realizing he seemed confrontational, he leaned back on his heels. If this person had killed a man, he was dangerous. But if the SOLDIERs were looking for him, well. Any enemy of Shin-Ra was a friend of AVALANCHE.

"I don't know who I am," the man admitted in a rush. "All I… all I remember is… the man. He was in front of me. I think… he was trying to hold me. There were others. I don't know what happened. But he fell, and I ran."

Ansem frowned.

"How did you do it?" he asked, keeping his voice as gentle as possible. The man shook his head. "You don't know… what have you got, there?"

The man blinked and looked down at his clenched fist.

"It was around his neck," he said, showing Ansem. He didn't snatch it away when Ansem reached for it, so the governor took it from him for a better look. It was a standard SOLDIER identification tag. The dead man had been a SOLDIER, First Class. His name and service number followed his rank. The name was unfamiliar. Intrigued, Ansem looked up at the man.

"Perhaps you should come with me," he suggested. "I will protect you. Maybe we can discover who you are."

* * *

After he had been subjected to a hot bath and lots of scrubbing, it turned out that the stranger had dark golden-brown skin. His most striking feature was his flowing silver hair, which could have been either natural or the result of a genetic modification. There were two fresh scars in his palms. He looked smaller in borrowed clothes. Once he seemed to catch on that nobody was going to hurt him, he relaxed substantially. Although he knew that the name on the ID tag didn't belong to the stranger, Ansem had no other name to attach to him. Calling him by the dead man's name may have been morbid, but somehow Xehanort seemed to fit him.

Ansem suspected that Xehanort was genetically modified. He bore no weapon, yet he had somehow killed his SOLDIER namesake. He may have unknowingly used the mysterious power granted by rare genetic strains. He expressed these thoughts to Xehanort, who frowned in confusion.

"Genetic modification?" he asked. Ansem humored his amnesia.

"A skilled scientist may clone parts of foreign DNA and substitute it into another person's genetic sequence," he explained. "There are some strange genetic mutations that can be copied to induce changes. Some procedures can change physical traits such as hair or eye color. Others can cure genetic diseases. Still others can give one strange powers."

"How?"

"That was never my area of study," Ansem admitted.

"You're a scientist?" Xehanort asked curiously.

"Yes," Ansem answered, nodding. "But I focus on the theoretical these days. I study the heart."

After a few days of trying to induce some sort of magical reaction from Xehanort, Ansem gave up and called in a favor.

Luckily, Braig was already in town and he arrived soon. He was a compact man of twenty-nine wearing a uniform of the little-used Midgar Police Department. His long, dark hair was streaked prematurely with grey, and his face was rugged and scarred. His left eye was gold, intense and hawkish. The right was covered by a black eyepatch. Despite his small stature, he cut a fearsome image, and Ansem wasn't surprised that Xehanort seemed loath to approach him.

"This is the one I told you about," Ansem said, shooing Xehanort forward. "Xehanort, this is Officer Mayes."

"Just Braig," the man said, reaching out for a vigorous handshake. Ansem was pleased to see that Xehanort warmed up to Braig quickly. Braig was easy to get along with, as long as you weren't in Shin-Ra. He had been in AVALANCHE for almost fourteen years, ever since he had learned that Shin-Ra's secret attack on Kalm had orphaned him at three. He hated anything to do with the company.

"All right, what am I doing with him?" Braid asked, after Ansem had explained Xehanort's appearance.

"I need to know if he has any genetic modifications," Ansem said, "and I also need to check the Net. However, I lack the equipment or the capability."

Braig grinned knowingly.

"So you want me to get him an appointment with the doctor?" he asked, and Ansem nodded.

"Take the taxi," he advised. It was the safest way to get from Radiant Garden to Midgar and back. The drivers' silence could be bought with a hearty tip. "And Xehanort will have to be disguised, if it is him Shin-Ra is looking for."

Braig looked Xehanort up and down.

"Haircut?" he suggested. Xehanort drew back instantly, reaching up to twist a lock of long hair around his fingers.

"No," he pleaded, turning to Ansem. The governor chuckled, pretending to deliberate.

"Your hair _is_ something of an eyecatcher, I'm afraid. Perhaps a short cut would make me feel better."

"Please, no," Xehanort begged. "Ansem, please?"

Ansem didn't think that Xehanort's fascinating eyes could have gotten any larger. The stare left him with an uncomfortable sensation of wanting to take Xehanort home and feed him and keep him forever. As it was, he just reached out to ruffle the stranger's hair.

"All right," he said. "We'll tuck it up under a hat."

Xehanort sighed in relief.

It was harder than Ansem had expected to let Xehanort go off into Midgar. After only a short time with him, Ansem had grown rather fond of him. Xehanort was like a child in his wonder. He wandered the halls of Ansem's home with wide eyes, relearning what he had lost. The possibility that he could be lost, captured, or even killed was worrisome. But Braig was one of the best, and there was hardly any chance that anything would go wrong.

* * *

**A/N:** Don't forget, a review is worth a thousand faves. I'd love to know what you think!


	2. Midgar, Men With Geostigma Die

**A/N:** This chapter was really long, so I flip-flopped a little in order to split it into two. Hopefully that explains any weird continuity-character description-coming-too-late stuff. Haha.

* * *

**2. Midgar; Men With Geostigma Die**

* * *

CFile 03: Mayes, Braig: police officer in Midgar. Openly dislikes Shin-Ra. Suspected member of AVALANCHE, but there is no solid evidence. Accomplished marksman. Unmodified.

CFile 04: Winter, Even: independent geneticist, formerly of Shin-Ra. Studied under Dr. Hojo. Known for turning down all offers of employment. Genetic modification listed as "ice" on the DNAnet.

* * *

IFile 03: Plates, the: Midgar is built on two levels—above the Plate and below. The Plates are held up by 50-meter support pillars, one for each sector.

IFile 04: mako: a convenient form of energy, also used in some genetic modifications. Some activists claim it is the Planet's lifeblood. Shin-Ra holds a monopoly on this kind of power.

* * *

_Three Years Earlier…_

"Your arm's still not better?" Braig asked incredulously. Even tried to act normal as he tugged his sleeve down to hide the bandages.

"It's all right, Braig," he lied. "Don't worry about it."

"It's been bandaged for months," Braig argued. He extended a hand. "Let me see it."

Even drew back nervously.

"No, there's no need," he protested. This only made Braig more suspicious.

"Come on, Ev, show me," he demanded. When Even shook his head, he scowled. "What are you hiding?"

"Nothing."

"Even! Show me!"

Even threw up his hands. "All right! All right," he repeated softly, pulling off his shirt. The bandages were rough under his fingers and his arm gave a warning twinge as he unwound them. Braig stared, the anger draining from his face to leave him expressionless. Even averted his eyes to avoid looking at the mottled-black staining his arm around the elbow.

For a long moment, there was silence. Braig swallowed hard, then said hoarsely, "Geostigma?"

Even nodded. Braig rubbed his forehead with his knuckles.

"But Aeris… what rotten timing, Ev, gods… for how long?"

"Since just after she died," Even responded. Braig closed his eyes and let out a long breath through pursed lips. Then he slammed his fist down on the nearest exam table.

"Damn it all, Even, why didn't you _tell_ someone?!" he cried.

"I didn't want you to worry—"

"You didn't want me to _worry_?! What were you gonna do, huh? Just drag yourself along until you couldn't hide it, or just disappear?" Braig shouted. "And I wasn't supposed to worry _then_?"

"I'm sorry—" Even tried, but Braig seized the marked arm, yanking him closer.

"You're such an idiot," he exploded. "Of _course_ I'm gonna worry, it's 'cause I—"

He checked himself visibly, forcing himself to let go of Even's arm. His hand was smudged with black fluid as he fisted it, making as though to strike Even. Instead he sighed, shoulders drooping. His hand landed gently on Even's shoulder.

"What am I gonna do with you, Shin-Ra," he whispered, shaking his head.

"It looks like you won't have to," Even answered. Braig pulled him into a one-armed embrace, resting his forehead on the younger man's hair.

"Don't say that," he pleaded.

* * *

_Present._

Denzel sat still, biting his lip when the pain got too bad. He refused to cry. Boys didn't cry. He would be strong, like Cloud. Besides, Dr. Winter's hands were surprisingly gentle for such a deceptively harsh man. The cold from his long fingers numbed the pain.

"Finished," the doctor announced finally, discarding the stained cloth before Denzel could see the black pus on it. "You were brave."

Denzel nodded solemnly, and Even's half-smile tugged at a corner of his lips.

"Am I going to die?" Denzel asked, and Even became serious again. He sighed and sat beside Denzel on the table. It was the first time Denzel had seen him do this, for though the doctor was easier to deal with around children, he'd never seemed so… human.

"Everyone dies," Denzel expected him to say. That was what adults said. They always tried to sugar-coat everything, to make it easier. It was like saying, "Grandma's gone to a better place."

Instead, Even didn't say anything. He pushed his rolled-up sleeve further up his arm, and Denzel saw bandages wrapped securely around it. The twelve-year-old stared blankly until he saw the black staining the edges of the white bandages, and he understood. Dr. Winter was sick, too, just like Denzel and Cloud and so many others. He knew exactly how Denzel felt.

"Are we going to die?" Denzel amended.

"Yes," Even answered quietly. Denzel stared at him, amazed, but the doctor made no apology. The boy looked down at his hands. They seemed so small when he compared them with Even's.

"Then it's pointless," he said dully. "Life sucks, and then you die."

"Denzel. Don't give up."

"But you just said…"

"Do you see Cloud giving up… bad example. Geostigma could kill us all. In all likelihood, it will. But we can't lie down and let it. There's too much that needs to be done. If you're going to die, then at least do something that's worth remembering first."

Denzel swallowed down his depression and nodded.

"How long do I have to hold on?" he asked, and Even's smile was sharp and not entirely there.

"Until I find the cure," he answered.

* * *

Braig had no trouble in getting a cab to the city. He sat with Xehanort in the back, smiling at the other man's enthusiasm. Xehanort had his nose pressed to the window and was watching the fall countryside fly past. His hair was tucked up securely under a cap someone had lent him for the purpose.

"Wait 'til you see the Garden in the spring," Braig told him. "It's really pretty, not like Midgar."

"Are you from Radiant Garden?" Xehanort asked, settling the right way in his seat.

"Naah, but I wish I were," Braig answered. "I love spending time there. I live and work in Midgar, but I'm not from there, either. I'm from Kalm, a little ways north of here."

"Do you know this… Shin-Ra?"

Braig pulled a face.

"Doesn't everyone?"

He took pity on Xehanort and elaborated.

"Shin-Ra isn't a person," he said, "it's a company. The Shin-Ra Electric Power Company, to be specific. They run everything around here, and anywhere else, too. They're as much of a world government as we have. The guys you tangled with were SOLDIERs, who work for Shin-Ra. Me n' Ansem, we're members of a group that's against Shin-Ra. It's a sort of underground thing called AVALANCHE."

"Why are you against it?" Xehanort asked curiously. Braig looked out of the window at the blotch of Midgar on the horizon.

"It's a pretty long story, but I guess we've got time, and I'll give you the short and easy version," he said finally. "See, a while back, Shin-Ra discovered a power source, pretty useful stuff called mako. It's really convenient, 'cause you can get it almost anywhere by drilling into the Planet."

Xehanort winced. "Wouldn't that…" he hesitated, flushing in embarrassment. Braig nodded him on. "Wouldn't it hurt? The Planet, I mean… that's stupid, I'm sorry…"

"No, no, you're onto it," Braig said. "That's exactly what Ansem says. See, lots of people think that mako is the blood of the Planet, in a way. They think that Shin-Ra is killing the Planet just so we can live comfortably, but Shin-Ra's higher-ups think that it's all mumbo-jumbo and fairy tales. Their heads are in their wallets. SOLDIER isn't just security, it's an army. Shin-Ra controls the world, and they don't take 'no' for an answer. You know Wutai? Well, you don't know, but someone else can explain it to you. So we—that is, AVALANCHE—are against it. You'll have to ask Ansem to give you the long version."

"But if people know all this, why don't they do something?" Xehanort asked. "Ordinary people, or employees of Shin-Ra? Why does AVALANCHE have to be a secret?"

Braig laughed, but the sound was anything but happy. Xehanort was naïve; he had no clue about human nature. "Not many people know, kid," he said. "Even workers in Shin-Ra don't know. And lots of people who do know either don't believe it or are too scared to go against Shin-Ra."

"You're not," Xehanort pointed out. Braig's hands clenched into fists.

"I have a personal issue with Shin-Ra," he said quietly. Xehanort nodded eagerly. "A little over twenty-five years ago, Shin-Ra launched a lightning attack on Kalm. They covered it up, claimed that AVALANCHE was responsible, but lots of innocent people died that day. My parents were among them."

"How old were you?"

"I was three. I can't remember it, so don't ask."

"I wasn't going to. That's awful."

They settled into an awkward silence. Braig couldn't tell what Xehanort was thinking. What did you think about when your mind was a clean slate? What could you reflect on when your life as you knew it began a few days before?

"Look," he finally said. "Have you noticed that the land here is barren?"

"There's no green," Xehanort answered, staring out of the window. "Everything's dead."

"The whole Planet's gonna look like this if we don't stop it," Braig murmured, half to himself. "There's Midgar, coming up ahead. That's why it looks like this: there are six… right, five mako reactors at Shin-Ra HQ alone."

"Where d'you want?" the driver asked over his shoulder.

"Bottomside, Sector 5. We'll walk from there."

Xehanort couldn't decide where to look as they drove into the city. They were still topside, where everything was glitz and glamour. Shin-Ra sure knew how to put on a show, Braig thought contemptuously. Happy families played in front of their fancy houses. Young couples canoodled as they waited in line at the movies. Schoolchildren chased the ice cream truck.

"They all look happy," Xehanort said, confused. Braig rolled his eyes, looking out with distaste.

"That's because they're standing on the heads of the people under the Plate," he answered. Xehanort frowned in confusion, and he went on, "Midgar's built on two levels: above the Plate and below. The folks on top are rich, or work for Shin-Ra, or both, and they get special benefits. But about fifty meters under us, down the support pillars, there are the poorer neighborhoods. Cheap housing, dormitories for students, slums. Some spanking good bars, too. It's miserable, but the people there know how to make the most of it."

"That's where we're going?"

"Yup. Hey, look. That's the Shin-Ra building. It's hard to miss, isn't it?"

Instead of pressing close to the window as Braig had expected him to, Xehanort drew back as he stared up at the impressive tower surrounded by huge mako reactors. He looked scared, really scared. Braig frowned. The kid knew the place, and he knew it well. His instincts remembered it even if his head didn't.

"That place… it gives me a bad feeling," he said. "I don't like it."

"Neither do I, kid," Braig said, giving Xehanort a comforting pat on the knee. "It's okay, no one's gonna spot you." He pointed to the activity around a large heap of rubble. "That was the Sector 1 reactor. There are accidents all the time. This one was just helped along a bit by AVALANCHE. More people died than Ansem would've liked, though."

They descended beneath the Plate, granting Xehanort a bird's-eye view of Sector 5. It was gloomier down here, mostly hidden from the weak sunlight. Neon lights guided them through dark rows of run-down houses.

"This is actually one of the better neighborhoods," Braig told his charge. "Not so slimy, but not quite Radiant Garden, right? We'll walk from here, get you a feel for the place."


	3. A Scientist, The Church, Seventh Heaven

**A/N: **Holy shnonk, what a long chapter, even when I split it from chapter 2!!

* * *

**Chapter 3. A Scientist; The Church; Seventh Heaven**

* * *

CFile05: Strife, Cloud: former SOLDIER (unconfirmed), now mercenary. Suspected associate of AVALANCHE. Licensed to carry materia. Unmodified.

CFile 06: Lockhart, Tifa: bartender in Midgar, Sector 7. Suspected member of AVALANCHE. Unmodified.

* * *

IFile 05: genetic modification: all the rage. Can be used as surgery or a way of gaining strange powers. Carefully monitored by Shin-Ra.

IFile 06: geostigma: an incurable disease, most common in children but also in adults. The body expends too much energy to fight a mystery gene. How the gene occurs is unknown. Characterized by black fluid secreting from the skin. Symptoms include moments of dizziness, weakness, lapses of consciousness, and eventually death.

* * *

_9 Years Earlier._

They got off to a rocky start. The first time they met, Braig scowled.

"So are we just _letting_ the enemy into AVALANCHE now?" he asked brusquely. He was twenty, brash, and most definitely opposed to the presence of "one of the enemy."

"Let me make it perfectly clear that I am _not_ "in" AVALANCHE," Even answered icily. He was nineteen, fresh out of Shin-Ra, and still showed Hojo's mark clearly on him. "I have no interests in associating myself with the likes of you."

They almost came to blows at that first meeting, but luckily, Ansem was there to placate them. From that day on they seemed sworn enemies, avoiding each other when they could and glaring at each other when they happened to meet. In a stroke of either foresight or perhaps malicious pleasure, Ansem assigned Braig to help Even adjust to civilian life. The two could often be seen bickering as they passed by each other in the scientist's new laboratory. Even was well-off, which seemed to rankle on Braig's nerves even more.

"You were paid for destroying people's lives, Shin-Ra?" he sniped. Even's curled lip showed his disgust for his new nickname.

"I have a name," the young scientist snapped back. "Kindly use it. I inherited it, for your information."

"From who?" Braig retorted. "I heard that you didn't even know your parents. Didn't that bastard Hojo name you?"

In a rare show of physical force, Even rounded on Braig and shoved him up against the wall, his face even paler with fury.

"He…" he hissed. "Don't talk about him like that. My parents named me. Don't believe everything you hear."

Even had a few inches on Braig, but then, Even wasn't a trained fighter. It was the work of a moment to reverse their positions, pinning Even against the opposite wall.

"So defensive," Braig answered. "It must really bug you now. You think we'll ever accept you?" He laughed derisively. "Once Shin-Ra, always Shin-Ra."

Their conflicts didn't stop there. Braig continued to make cruel remarks considering Even's origins, and Even never failed to voice his disdain for Braig. But _something_ changed as the friction grew between them. Perhaps it was just a teenager's petty pleasure that surged through Braig's veins at each angered flush he induced on Even's face, and the tension in the younger man's body suggested the same tingle up and down his spine as well. It didn't help in the least that Even was so damn _attractive_. If he'd been a girl… and when Braig began to have dreams about the other man which left him sweaty and uncomfortable, well.

"Bet you screwed around at Shin-Ra," he exploded at the height of one of their frequent arguments, searching for more insults. He was rewarded by a furious snarl and a baleful glare.

"I beg your _pardon_?" Even gritted out.

"Bet you had a good time," Braig said, voice rising. Why this annoyed him so much, he didn't know. "Was Hojo any good, Shin-Ra? He give you what you want?"

Even's mouth was tight, his eyes smoldering. He tilted his chin up defiantly.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, and he was better than you could ever hope to be."

In a heartbeat, Braig had him pinned to the wall, his face so close that their noses were all but touching. He could feel the scientist's lean muscles straining to escape, but Braig's training was working against him.

"You wanna try me, Shin-Ra?" he hissed.

"I have a name," Even snarled back.

"I know," Braig responded, and kissed Even so hard that he tasted blood.

* * *

_Present._

Xehanort hung close to Braig as the officer paid the driver, plus a generous tip. The cabbie tapped his nose, the general signal that he would keep quiet, then rolled up the window and drove off. Braig noticed the way Xehanort moved in this new environment. The kid had survivor's instincts. In fact, he acted like a SOLDIER: eyes darting everywhere and missing no potential threat or weapon or escape route, sticking close to be near his backup, hands poised to draw a weapon that he didn't carry. It was curious, but Xehanort hadn't noticed what he was doing. He'd had some sort of intense training before losing his past, Braig could tell, like a SOLDIER but not like a SOLDIER.

"Who's this doctor?" Xehanort asked.

"A friend of Ansem's," Braig replied, "and of mine."

"Is he in AVALANCHE, too?"

"No, not technically. He don't like Shin-Ra, though, so he does a favor from time to time. But expecting payback, of course. He just does it to tease. Ansem told you he was a scientist, right? Well, whatever he can't do he sends to our friend. Drives him crazy, that he has to turn to someone younger."

Braig approached one of the buildings, Xehanort trailing him. The disguised man jumped terribly when a small blue screen flickered to life and a pixellated male face looked out at them.

"Officer Mayes?"

"Hey, Tron, you can see!" Braig exclaimed. "Congratulations!"

"Voice key accepted. Hello, Braig. Who is this?"

Braig pushed Xehanort into clear sight of the panel.

"This is Xehanort. He's the one the good doctor's examining."

Braig laughed at Xehanort's dumbfounded face.

"This is Tron," he explained. "He's an AI, that's 'artificial intelligence.' Smartest computer in the world. Say hello, let him hear your voice so he'll recognize you."

"H-hello," Xehanort stammered.

"Voice code registered. It's a pleasure to meet you, Xehanort," the face on the screen said. There was a beep, the screen glowed green, and Braig opened the door. "Welcome."

"We'll go to the lab," Braig said.

"My master will be with you shortly."

Xehanort looked around as they walked in. Braig led the way down the hall past a few closed doors.

"He's sort of secretive," he said, almost embarrassed. "But Tron's nice enough, for a computer, you know. It's kinda creepy, actually. Here we are."

They entered the lab, Xehanort looking around anxiously. Two or three tables were spaced throughout. Two walls were lined by long counters. Tools were laid out in an organized fashion here and there. One wall glowed blue, a computer screen divided into several smaller units. The counter/desk/shelf beneath was seamless and streamlined. Xehanort looked so nervous by this point that Braig almost felt sorry for him.

"Look," he said, perching nonchalantly on an exam table. "He's not gonna bite, so relax."

The stranger still looked unconvinced. Braig sighed. "Hey, if he hasn't killed me yet, I think you've got a pretty good shot."

"That's not to say that I haven't seriously considered it at times," a cool voice remarked from a second doorway. Braig grinned, twisting to look.

"But think how boring your life would be," he replied. "Xeha—can I call you Xeha?—this is Dr. Winter. This is the guy, Shin-Ra."

"I have a name," was the tart reply. Clearly, the doctor was used to Braig's jabs. Xehanort watched him curiously, wondering about the nickname.

"He used to work for Shin-Ra," Braig confided, lowering his voice as though disclosing a great secret.

"Yes, thank you, Braig," the scientist interrupted, scowling. "Get off of my table."

He regarded Xehanort with penetrating green eyes flecked with brown. After a moment, he held out his hand and the other shook it.

"You'll have to forgive Braig," he said. "My name is Even Winter. And yes, as Officer Mayes so kindly disclosed…" He shot Braig a venomous glare, which the other man countered with a sweet smile. "…I _used _to work for Shin-Ra."

"I'm Xehanort, I think."

Even nodded and turned to Braig. "What does Ansem want me to do with him?"

Braig shrugged. "Whatever your twisted little mind wants," he said. "I dunno, the works."

Even rolled his eyes, but made no reply. Instead, he turned to his tools.

"You remember nothing?" he asked as he prepared.

"Nothing at all," Xehanort said.

Even hummed thoughtfully. "All right, let's see if we can't find out who you are," he murmured.

As the scientist worked, Xehanort was able to make some observations of his own. Even's hands were agile and steady, the result of years of delicate work. His eyes were sharp. He didn't flinch at the sight of blood and went about his business with methodical precision. He was pale and thin, no doubt from lack of sun, but wiry. His face was harshly beautiful, framed by escaped golden-brown bangs. The rest of his hair was swept back into a pony-tail to keep it out of the way.

Xehanort was startled when Even announced crisply, "Done. I'll have Tron search the DNAnet, see if he finds anything."

He turned to regard Xehanort again.

"You look familiar," the stranger suddenly said. Braig looked up, curious, and Even peered at him with interest.

"Do I?" he asked. Xehanort nodded. "It's funny. I hear that from SOLDIERs."

"Why is that?" Xehanort asked. Even's lips thinned and Braig answered for him.

"He made lots of them."

"Thank you, Braig," Even said stiffly. "That's all I have to do. You can take him back to Ansem at any time. I'll let him know when I find something."

"May… may I ask you something?" Xehanort requested. At Even's nod, he continued, "I don't understand what you said earlier. What's the… the DNAnet?"

"The DNAnet was invented to keep track of genetic modifications," Even answered. He headed off Xehanort's next question. "Geneticists are able to alter a person's DNA. It's the rich man's cosmetic surgery, to put it in simplest terms, but it provides far more opportunities than the old-fashioned way. Most hereditary diseases are a thing of the past. Mutations can be made or amended."

"Plus you could get awesome powers if you wanted," Braig added.

"A rare genetic mutation such as that can be cloned, yes," Even agreed.

"So you can do crazy cool stuff," Braig piped up again. "Wait'll you meet Dilan, he controls the wind. It's super neat."

"How do those 'powers' work?" Xehanort asked, wide-eyed.

"No one knows for sure," Braig answered.

"Obviously, it's important to monitor such modified individuals," Even said. "Shin-Ra scientists invented the DNAnet as a counterpart to the main network, the WWN. It was meant for use by law enforcement, but thus far it hasn't left Shin-Ra's control. Shin-Ra requires all recipients of such modifications to register to the DNAnet with their proposed alteration. If the modification is not approved, it is not performed. Only properly trained and registered scientists may perform modifications on the genetic scale."

Braig interrupted again. "Yes, modest, isn't he? But there's a little black market, of course. Not everyone wants to pay the fees or, you know, attract Shin-Ra's attention. AVALANCHE, for instance." He snickered. "But of course, the honorable Dr. Winter would _never_ be involved. Shin-Ra randomly inspects every geneticist's lab to check for any illegal activities."

Even's lips twisted into a smirk, and he patted the desk-shelf affectionately.

"I have _never_ failed an inspection."

Tron chuckled, causing Xehanort to jump. Both other men laughed.

"He really is quite amazing," Xehanort tried weakly. "How did you come by him?"

"Ev made him," Braig said, clapping the scientist on the back. "Made him smart, gave him a voice and ears and eyes and emotions, too."

"I merely upgraded it," Even corrected quickly. "A computer program has no emotions, Braig, even if it seems to. When I found it, the program was just an outdated security program. I've been programming it ever since. It used to be just my security system, but I make it my operating system after I left Shin-Ra."

"He's _so_ much better than Shin-Ra's technology," Braig put in. "They're just dying to get their hands on him, but Even programmed him special so they can't hack in or anything."

He checked his watch. "Oh, hey, time to go," he said. "Wanna come along, Ev?"

Even shook his head. "I have work to do."

"Got a subject?" asked Braig. Even just looked at him. For several seconds, some sort of unspoken communication born from years of companionship passed between them.

"I'll come back later," Braig promised at last. The way that both of them were standing made it clear that Xehanort wasn't meant to be part of this understanding. "Okay if the kid stays overnight?"

Even nodded his consent. "Give me at least two hours," he said. "Enjoy yourselves."

"Okay," Braig agreed, snapping back to his earlier, cheerful self. "Come on, Xeha. See you later, Tron. Bye."

Xehanort muttered a farewell, unnerved when the computer returned it, and followed Braig back out onto the street. It was darker than before, but still warm.

_The Plate keeps the hot air in. Now how did I know that?_

"Where are we going?" he asked, trotting along at Braig's elbow.

"Sector Seven," Braig replied. "There's a great little bar there called 'Seventh Heaven.' A friend of mine runs the joint. But first, there's someplace I want to show you."

They stopped in front of an old-looking building. Its stone façade was crumbling, but the building had once been impressive. There was a large motorcycle parked in front.

"Looks like Cloud's home," Braig muttered, and led Xehanort inside. "Welcome to the church."

Xehanort looked around. The roof vaulted high above their heads, hidden in shadows. Ancient wooden pews lined the nave, many of them decaying. Some of the stained-glass windows were unbroken, and the dim light filtered through them, casting colored splashes on the patchy floor.

What captured Xehanort's attention more than any of this, however, were the flowers growing out from between the rotted floorboards in the center of the church. They were yellow and white, small spots of pale color amid green stems and leaves.

"It's the only place where they grow in the whole city," Braig explained in a hushed voice, following his gaze. "Aeris used to sell them."

"Who?"

Braig hadn't seemed to hear him. Instead, he strode forward into the central area, looking around. Xehanort followed him and saw some crates and a roll of blankets. In the middle of these modest living quarters stood a man.

He was even shorter than Braig. He wore dark clothes, which made his blond spikes stand out. As they approached, the man fixed Xehanort with eyes that were too pure blue to be true.

"Hey," Braig greeted. The man didn't respond at once, but eyed Xehanort.

"Who's this?" he answered at last.

"Have some manners," Braig reprimanded. "Cloud, this is Xehanort. Xeha, this is Cloud Strife, former SOLDIER. He's with AVALANCHE."

"I'm not 'with' AVALANCHE," Cloud said flatly. "I'm not in this for Ansem's ideals, so don't give him the wrong idea. All I want—"

"Is to satisfy your own ends, yeah, yeah, I know," Braig interrupted. "I just came to show Xeha Aeris's church."

Xehanort saw Cloud flinch slightly at the name before the tiny man turned away. He made a mental note to ask about this "Aeris" later.

"Whatever."

Braig raised his eyebrows at Xehanort and mouthed an apology. Xehanort shook his head.

"We're going to the bar," Braig said. "I'll bet Tifa would be thrilled to see you."

"I'll pass."

"Suit yourself," Braig said with a shrug, and faced Xehanort. "Ready to go?"

Xehanort looked around. "Can we come back sometime?"

Braig assured him that they would, and Xehanort reluctantly allowed himself to be led towards the exit.

Sector 7 was gloomier than Sector 5, or perhaps it was just the early darkness caused by the Plate overhead. Xehanort stared up, trying to see the underside of the Plate, but it was shrouded in shadow. He could see the massive support pillars Braig had mentioned, illuminated by hundreds of lights for convenience. One huge one stood close by, and several others were scattered where he could just see them over the rooftops. He thought of all those people he had seen above the Plate, all those houses, and tried to imagine how much weight pressed down on the pillars.

"Braig?" he ventured. "If a support pillar were to be destroyed, what would happen?"

It was difficult to tell in the garish light of the streetlamps, but Xehanort thought that Braig went dead white.

"Don't even _say_ things like that," the cop breathed. "Hell, don't even _think_ it. You know how many people would die if the Plate collapsed, even just on one sector?"

Xehanort shivered and lowered his gaze to watch the people. It was much different from the carefree families above the Plate. People walked quickly, not speaking to each other. They kept their eyes on the sidewalk for the most part, but sometimes someone would meet Xehanort's eyes before looking quickly away. Some ragged souls lingered on street corners or huddled in alleys. Once, a man staggered up to them, hands outstretched. Xehanort tensed, but Braig just sidestepped, shaking his head.

"Sorry, can't help you," he said. Xehanort cast a curious glance at the man before he staggered away. There was a dark splotch under the filth on the man's skin.

Now that he had seen it, he noticed the mark on other passers-by and on the slumped figures in the alleys. He drew closer to Braig so he could murmur a question.

"What is that black mark?"

Braig's lips thinned, and Xehanort wondered if he had inadvertently struck a nerve.

"Geostigma," the smaller man muttered. "It's a sickness. Nobody knows what causes it. Kids get it a lot, but adults do, too. It's fatal."

"Fatal," echoed Xehanort. Braig nodded grimly.

"Black stuff comes out of your skin, and apparently it hurts worse than anything. Eventually you die. Some people go in a few weeks, others in a few years. Nobody's ever survived."

Xehanort said nothing as he digested this. He was still thinking about it when Braig steered him into a crowded, well-lit room. He pressed close to Braig, suddenly uncomfortable in the presence of so many people.

_So many opportunities to be seen, so many chances to be killed…_

Just for a moment, a wisp of memory swirled in his mind, but when he tried to hold onto it, it slipped away. All he knew was that he was wary around so many strangers. He followed Braig to the bar, where a young woman chatted with the regulars as she served drinks. She had long black hair and almond-shaped brown eyes. Her nose was small and neatly curved, her lips plump. Most of the men, Xehanort noticed, seemed more interested in her substantial chest than her pretty face.

"Braig!" she called over the nose. Her eyes flicked over Xehanort with interest. "Who's your friend? I don't recognize him."

"A newcomer," Braig answered, shouldering his way in at the bar and dragging Xehanort beside him. "His name's Xehanort. Xeha, this is Tifa Lockhart. She's with us." The way he said it made it clear that this buxom young woman was also a member of AVALANCHE. "Get me the usual, Tifa."

"You want anything?" Tifa asked, glancing over at Xehanort as she poured Braig a shot of something-or-other.

"I don't think so, Miss Lockhart."

Tifa giggled as she slid Braig his drink. "Miss Lockhart? No one's called me that since grade school. Try this."

Xehanort took a cautious sip. Immediately something deep inside of him twisted and he grimaced as he swallowed it down.

_No alcohol, it dulls your senses and loosens your tongue and slows you down._

"Do you have anything… without alcohol?" he ventured. She grinned.

"You're like Even," she said. "Here, try this one. It's his favorite. No alcohol whatsoever."

She and Braig exchanged words when she wasn't serving or talking to anyone else. Most of what they said was nonsense to Xehanort. He could have sworn that most of what they said was code. Braig kept glancing at his watch.

"You're holding back," Tifa said. Braig glanced at his glass.

"Gotta be sober tonight," he said. Tifa seemed to understand, for she nodded. Xehanort didn't understand, but he contented himself with watching the people around him and sipping his Chocobo Grande until Braig slid Tifa the munny.

"See you around," he said, and Xehanort trailed him out of the bar.

"What were you talking about?" Xehanort asked. Braig grinned and tapped his nose.

"Business, as usual," he said. "Ansem will teach you the lingo. We don't want to talk plain, see, 'cause Shin-Ra's got spies everywhere. Hey, you're okay with staying at Ev's tonight, right?"

"Yes," Xehanort replied. "Why?"

"Okay."

Braig hadn't answered, Xehanort thought crossly, but his scowl achieved nothing. They made it back to Sector 5 without incident. When they approached Even's door, Tron appeared right away.

"Hey, Tron."

"Braig, Xehanort."

The door beeped and Braig opened it. Xehanort had to jog to keep up with him as he headed for the lab. He couldn't understand the urgency.

When they entered the lab, Even was slumped bonelessly over one of the tables, various notes and equipment still arrayed around him. Moving as though this were routine, Braig bent and lifted the thin form into his arms. Even murmured something that Xehanort couldn't hear, resting limply in Braig's strong hold. Xehanort lingered uncertainly near the lab's entrance as Braig carried Even out.

"Braig is kind," Tron's voice said from the computer wall, his face appearing on one of the many screens. "If I could do anything more for my master, I would, but…" He shrugged helplessly. "I lack the capacity. My functions do not include a physical format."

He looked terribly distressed, especially for a computer program, and Xehanort took pity on him. "You really like Dr. Winter."

"He made me," Tron said. "I do everything I can for him in return, but lacking a physical format, my functions are limited."

"What happened?" Xehanort asked.

"You are probably unaware," said Tron, "that my master is a gifted scientist and an honorable man. His research often calls for dangerous tests on humans. When he has no volunteers, he uses himself as the subject, at great personal risk. Braig dislikes it and offers himself as much as possible, but Even refuses to let him do it too often."

"Just how close are they?" asked Xehanort. "Braig and Even?"

Tron's face darkened into an expression that, in a human, he would have called jealousy. "Very."

His entire demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. "There's a spare room down the hall, second door on the left."

Xehanort hesitated. "What about Braig?"

"He'll stay with my master all night," Tron answered. "He always does, after an injection."

Xehanort followed Tron's directions and found a small room, bare but for a bed and a cramped bookshelf. He sat on the edge of the bed. He wasn't actually tired; he felt wide awake, despite his long day. Those books looked interesting. Perhaps he could find something that would remind him of his own forgotten past.

* * *

Seventh Heaven was silent except for the sound of running water. Tifa washed dishes with methodical precision, relaxing now that the bar was closed. She was tingling with excitement. She had seen little action since she had helped to destroy the Sector 1 reactor, and she was getting impatient. What was Ansem waiting for? How could AVALANCHE make any headway if they didn't _act_?

Her cell phone rang and she hastily dried her hands.

"Hello?"

She listened for a few seconds, her excitement fading. Her face paled.

"When? How?!"

After another moment, she flipped the phone shut and vaulted over the bar, pulling her leather combat gloves from her back pocket. She sprinted out of the door, leaving the dishes forgotten in the sink.

* * *

Braig's watch showed slightly after midnight. He rubbed a hand across his eyes, battling his own heavy eyelids, the aching sleepiness, his muddled brain, his leaden limbs. How long had it been since he'd gotten a good night's sleep? AVALANCHE had him running all over the place these days. Something had changed, for the first time in years. He didn't know what it was, and Ansem hadn't told him, Barret hadn't told him, nobody. Somehow Shin-Ra had made a move, and somehow AVALANCHE had to counter it.

_That would be so much _easier _if I knew what it was, damn it._

Even was sleeping fitfully. He had used mako today, a standard procedure for him. It was nothing too alarming, nothing new. Braig was an expert at caring for the scientist now; he was accustomed to Even's weight or lack thereof, used to soothing him when he thrashed, familiar with all the places where Even kept medicines and ice packs and towels.

Even stirred, frowning in his sleep, and Braig laid a hand on his thin chest to quiet him. The younger man must be even more tired than Braig, constantly working on some project or another, sometimes helping AVALANCHE, when he wasn't performing modifications as his primary job. He suffered nightmares, especially after a mako injection. Braig did his best to calm the other man, but it was made difficult when he had no idea exactly what Even dreamed _about_.

Technically, civilians were forbidden from possessing mako in its non-energy form. But the black market worked below the radar of Shin-Ra and the DNAnet, and the honorable Dr. Winter was perhaps not quite as law-abiding as he seemed at first glance. Even was something of a homemade SOLDIER, but the regimen had been started back in the scientist's Shin-Ra days under the approval of Dr. Hojo.

Hojo must know that his former assistant continued the use of the concentrated mako-- it wasn't quite an addiction, but even SOLDIERs needed periodic injections. Braig had never met Hojo, but he already despised the man. Was he still hoping that Even might come crawling back to him? Was this all an elaborate game of cat-and-mouse that he was convinced he would win?

The sound of an explosion rattled Braig from his thoughts and roused Even at once. The blast was followed by the most horrible screech, a rending, grinding squeal of protesting metal. It stopped, and for a moment there was an eerie silence. Then there was a rumbling, resounding crash, and the world shook.

In the silence that followed, Even gasped hoarsely, "What in all the gods' names was that?"

"No," Tron breathed from the screen nearby. "How... how could this be?"

Braig dashed to the window as Even struggled to sit up. Sirens and screams had started outside as he set the window to transparent. It felt as though a bucket of ice had been dumped over his head, and he stared in disbelief at the ragged gap above, revealing a sky too hazy for stars. That hole could mean only one thing.

"What is it?" Even asked. Braig had to swallow twice before managing a response.

"Sector Seven," he croaked. "It's gone."

* * *

**A/N:** Just passed the part in the game where the Plate falls on Sector 7... one of the most haunting images I've ever seen. I can't wait to see it in the remake.

A Chocobo Grande is like a Shirley Temple... ever had one? :D

* * *


	4. Aftermath, A Story

**4. The Aftermath; A Story**

* * *

CFile 07: Wallace, Barrett: the commander of AVALANCHE in Midgar. Wanted by Shin-Ra for acts of terrorism. Enhanced with a gun-arm. Listed as a serious public enemy.

Cfile 08: ??, Reno: member of Turk. Second-in-command.

* * *

IFile 07: Turk: the unit of personal guards to the President. There are only four members at present, but all of these have received intensive training as well as mako enhancement.

IFile 08: EMR: electro-mag rod. The weapon of choice for Reno of Turk. Various settings allow for various voltages.

* * *

_3 hours earlier..._

"How are the preparations going?" the President of the Shin-Ra Electric Power Company asked, smiling to himself in a way that was most unpleasant. His hands were folded on top of his great belly as he lounged in his soft chair, swiveling it absently back and forth.

His Director of Public Safety Maintenance, Heidigger, returned the nasty smirk, barking out a laugh. "Very smoothly! I hope you don't mind, I assigned your Turks to this. There must be no foul-ups."

"They'll get the job done," the President mused, stroking his mustache. "We'll crush AVALANCHE... literally. At least in Midgar."

"Mr. President!" the third man in the office said, dark eyes somber. "Are we really going to do this? AVALANCHE has very few members. This is like using a sledgehammer to kill an ant..."

"What's the matter, Reeve?" the President interrupted, leaning as far forward as his great bulk would allow. "You want out?"

His beady eyes challenged the other man. Reeve Tuesti was a cunning politician who had fought tooth and nail for his powerful position as one of the Board of Directors. But unlike the other Directors, he was possessed of a strong sense of responsibility and empathy for the people of Midgar. More than anything, he wanted to speak his thoughts, to throw his true opinions into the President's face like acid.

_Think, Tuesti, think. How can you help Ansem without this position?_

"...No," he said at last, hating himself for giving in so soon. "But, as Head of the Urban Development Department, I have been involved with the building and running of Midgar." That was true enough... he had overseen the original designs for the city. It was something like a child to him, and all the people his grandchildren. "That's the only reason..."

"Save your personal problems," Heidigger cut in, sneering. "We have a job to do."

"The mayor is against this..."

"Mayor?" Heidigger laughed. "He sits here all day stuffing his face! You think he knows what's best for this city? Now, sir, if you'll excuse me."

He turned and strode out. Reeve made as though to follow, but the President called him back.

"You're tired," the large man said. Although his voice was kind, his piggy eyes never left Reeve's, still searching him. "Why don't you take a couple of days off? Go somewhere nice and sunny, and stop worrying."

Reeve straightened his back. "That's generous of you, sir, but I'm afraid I have a _duty _to the city. Good night, Mr. President."

He stalked away, but paused just outside. The President was prone to talking to himself and could let something slip, something more he could pass on to Ansem. He heard the President chuckle softly.

"We'll destroy Sector Seven and make it look like AVALANCHE did it. Then we'll send in the rescue party... care of Shin-Ra, Inc. It's brilliant!"

* * *

_Present._

The Plate had destroyed everything below it. Where Sector 7 had once been was a huge spread of rubble, half-crushed buildings standing out here and there. A haze of dust and smoke lingered in the air. People had flooded to the scene in their pajamas, jackets and boots thrown on hastily. Some were armed with shovels. Others dug at the ruins with their bare hands, searching desperately for anyone who had somehow survived the crushing pressure of the Plate. Some stood or sat at the rim of the destruction, just staring. Screams of pain and grief rose from everywhere. Even above, on top of the neighboring Plates, the people were shocked, staring at the place where their friends and colleagues had been just minutes before.

The Shin-Ra rescue operation had already begun. Ambulances were scattered here and there. Men and women in uniform worked methodically to lift rubble. Civilians waiting for news of a family member or friend stood clustered nearby. Each time a new body was discovered, a mournful cry went up from someone.

Yuffie walked through the destruction, stunned with disbelief. There was an impassable lump in her throat as she looked around. How many children lay under the tons of metal? How many people had died in their beds, sleeping soundly, unaware that their lives were about to be snuffed out in an instant?

A low moan dragged her attention to her feet. She looked down and saw a woman there, half-crushed by the remains of her house. Horrified, Yuffie knelt and tried to drag the wooden slats off.

_It's too... heavy..._

"My sister... in Kalm..." the woman gasped.

"I'll tell her," Yuffie promised, tears stinging in her eyes. "Don't worry. Everything will be okay. Everything's fine..."

The woman shuddered and went still. Yuffie murmured a quick prayer to Leviathan and staggered away.

She stumbled on Barrett purely by chance. He sat on a pile of shattered metal slabs, staring at the ground. His muscular shoulders were drooped, his dark eyes filled with pain. He barely looked up when she approached. Tifa stood near him, tear tracks staining her face. Her eyes were red and puffy from weeping.

"Yuffie," she whispered. "Oh, Yuffie..."

Tears flooded her eyes again. Barrett's head shook back and forth.

"Biggs... Wedge... Jessie..." he murmured. "God damn... all these people..."

He leapt to his feet, eyes wild. "What's it all for?" he screamed. "What the hell's it all for? Damn it all! Biggs! Wedge! Jessie!"

His gun-arm sparked and he whirled, firing at the ruins.

"Barrett!" Tifa cried. "Barrett, please!"

"What the hell... what's it all for?!" he repeated, and now Yuffie could see the tears on his face, too. "Damn Shin-Ra... damn..."

He sat down again, burying his face in his normal hand. His powerful shoulders shook with sobs.

"Damn it..." he whispered.

"Thank the gods Marlene is still safe..." Tifa whispered, trying to console him. "Oh, Yuffie, how could they?"

"They're Shin-Ra," Yuffie said, her voice choked with sobs she refused to let out. "They killed a whole sector just to get at us."

"Damn Shin-Ra," Barrett choked out. "Damned evil Shin-Ra, destroying our Planet... gonna kill everything... everyone!"

His fist slammed down on the heap of metal. Yuffie put her arms around Tifa, burying her face in the taller woman's shoulder.

"Barret... Tifa... Yuffie... you're all okay."

Tifa gave a little sobbing cry and tore free of Yuffie, running to Braig's arms.

"How could they do this?!" she screamed. "How... how?!"

"They're Shin-Ra," Even answered hoarsely. His face was pale, his eyes glowing with fury.

"You... you shouldn't be here," Tifa muttered. "Braig, why'd you come? He... he should be resting... and Xehanort, he shouldn't need to... to see something like... this..."

Braig held her closer, shushing her. She was only trying to distract herself. He glanced back at Xehanort, who was looking around with the same sort of blank shock as everyone around them, and at Even, who was swaying on his feet.

"I wanted to come," Even whispered. "I had to... I couldn't... there must be something I can do..."

Barrett was on his feet in an instant, slamming Even into the nearest pile of rubble. "Do? What can you do? What more can you or your pals at Shin-Ra possibly do?!"

"Barrett!" Tifa cried, going to him and trying fruitlessly to pull him off of Even.

"I'll tell you what you can do. You can go and die in a corner somewhere," Barrett growled. "You and all the rest of the Shin-Ra trash."

"Barrett, stop it," Braig snapped, joining Tifa. "You know that's not right! You know perfectly well that he hates Shin-Ra just as much as you!"

"Once Shin-Ra, always Shin-Ra, isn't that right, Officer?!" Barrett roared.

"That's enough!"

Barrett was on his back in an instant, blinking in shock. They all stared at Xehanort, who had just been trying to get the big man to release Even. He looked as amazed as they did, but pressed on.

"Braig told me Even doesn't work for Shin-Ra anymore," he said. "I know how you feel. You just want to take it out on something. The whole world's gone crazy and you just need someone to pound into the floor. Take it out on Shin-Ra."

He offered Barrett a hand, which the black man took and used to help pull himself up.

"He's right," someone said, and they all turned. Cloud Strife's face was closed. He kept any emotions he had to himself as he looked around. "This _is _Shin-Ra's fault. But right now we need to concentrate on finding survivors. Keep away from Shin-Ra troops. They'll recognize you."

He turned to start sifting through the rubble, moving huge girders that even Barrett's mechanical arm couldn't have managed. "I just got orders from Ansem," he added. "Today we help the rescue operation. Tomorrow, we have to prepare. In a few days Barrett, Tifa and I are going to climb this stuff and infiltrate Shin-Ra headquarters. Yuffie is to return the the Garden with Xehanort as soon as possible."

Xehanort turned uncertainly to Braig, but the older man was glaring daggers at Barrett.

"Wallace," Braig growled, but Even pulled him away.

"Don't," he murmured. "It's fine."

"No, it isn't," Braig said, not keeping Even's quiet tone. "You deserve better. Maybe he's just forgotten what you did for him."

He turned his anger to moving the ruins, but not without a last glare in Barrett's direction. The big man reached up unconsciously to run his gun-arm. Xehanort found himself working between Cloud and Even.

"Thank you," Even said quietly. "Barrett... I don't think he's gotten used to me yet."

"That was SOLDIER strength, back there," Cloud said, and Xehanort shook his head.

"I just wanted to push him away. He was already off balance, I suppose," he said. Cloud smirked, watching him with raised eyebrows.

"Really. Have you noticed that you're helping Even and me lift something three times our weight combined?"

Unsettled, Xehanort moved away, only to find himself next to Barett. The man used his mechanical arm to shift the rubble. They weren't alone in the effort; nameless people surrounded them, faces identically bleak, assisting the rescue effort.

"No hard feelings," Barrett grunted at last. "I deserved to get knocked on my ass. I was out of my mind. Just Shin-Ra... damn Shin-Ra, pulling a move like this. Biggs, Wedge, Jessie... they were my friends." He sighed. "Doc Winter's done a lot for AVALANCHE, and for me." He rubbed his arm again. "I shouldn'ta snapped on him like that."

"How..." Xehanort began, then balked. Perhaps it was too personal a question. Barrett followed his gaze to the mechanical arm and smiled grimly.

"Shin-Ra. It's always Shin-Ra, kid. The reactor blew in North Corel, my hometown. Took most of the city with it. Shin-Ra sent in a team to... 'clean up.'"

"It seems as though many people have some sort of grudge against Shin-Ra," Xehanort said. Both of them surreptitiously hid their faces as a helicopter flew overhead. "Um... Barrett, what do you know about Cloud?"

Barrett glanced over his shoulder. "Spiky? Not much. No one really does. He used to be a SOLDIER, apparently. Showed up nine years ago, around the time Byron came." The name was familiar to Xehanort. Byron was a friend of Ansem's and one of the leading members of AVALANCHE. "Same time Winter left Shin-Ra, too. Yeah, we got lucky that year. Well, at least with Byron. Spike's a great fighter... that's the power of SOLDIER... but he went all to pieces after Aeris died. Doc Winter's the best geneticist you're gonna find anywhere, but I don't..."

He stopped short, and Xehanort finished the statement. "You don't trust him."

"I oughta," Barrett muttered. "After nine years, I oughta. Everyone else does. Even Braig, and Braig don't trust anyone or anything with a whiff of Shin-Ra on it."

"You've lost a great deal to Shin-Ra," Xehanort acknowledged. "That's understandable." He paused. "I keep hearing her name. Who is... was... Aeris?"

Barrett's hand twitched. "Aeris... oh man, kid, ask someone else."

Xehanort frowned. Would no one tell him about the mysterious flower girl whose church had captivated him? Why was it so painful for everyone who mentioned her name?

How strange. He could hear Tifa's strangled sobs, and even Barrett flinched whenever they uncovered a new body. Braig's frown deepened with each corpse, Yuffie's shoulders drooped... but Xehanort felt nothing. He _should_ feel something, whether it be pain or grief or hatred. It reminded him eerily of Cloud and Even, who were both just as expressionless. They had seen too much death to be affected by it now. What did this say about Xehanort's forgotten past? He didn't want to think on it.

At last Barrett called them off. Cloud had to gently pull Tifa away, ignoring how she beat her bloody hands on his chest, begging to be released. Even looked exhausted, but walked on his own. Xehanort, strangely, felt as though he could keep at it for hours. When he mentioned this to Braig, the other man smiled mirthlessly.

"Don't think so, kid. Ansem wants you back as soon as possible. Says it's too dangerous, since Shin-Ra's looking for you and all." He gave Xehanort an appraising glance. "But from what I've seen so far, I think you'd be just fine on your own."

* * *

News of Sector Seven's destruction filled all of the channels that Reno clicked through. All reports pointed fingers at AVALANCHE and praised Shin-Ra's "quick and noble actions."

The red-haired man finally shut the T.V. off, putting his feet up on the coffee table. He was a Turk, trained to do the President's dirty work, to kill without batting an eyelash. He wore the black suit with pride, despite its messy appearance. He wielded his electro-mag rod with confidence and skill.

He had pressed the button that dropped the Plate, and he had no regrets.

Reno liked explosions. Something about a powerful blast of smoke and fire left him breathless. Fireworks were a true delight. Dynamite, grenades, cherry bombs, he didn't care how large or how small. Reno just liked to blow things up.

He had watched the explosion again and again on every channel, staring with rapt attention as the support pillar collapsed on itself, setting off dozens of minor bursts of flame as the section of the Plate tore away from the rest. The noise, the heat, the light left Reno giddy with delight.

Then there had been silence, as the city realized what had happened.

Then the screams set in, the sirens, the shouting. The T.V. reports had shown the rescue effort, the rows of uncovered bodies, the survivors desperately searching for loved ones. Reno ignored these parts. He was Turk. He was just doing his job.

What did he care that hundreds had died?

What did he care that scores of children were now orphans?

What did he care?

Reno had pressed the button that dropped the Plate, and he had no regrets...

_Yeah. Yeah, just keep telling yourself that._

* * *

Everyone was awake at Ansem's home. The news of the Plate's fall had roused everyone. Braig dropped Xehanort off and returned to Midgar after speaking briefly with Ansem. The governor watched him go, then turned back to Xehanort. It pained him to see that the young man was covered in dirt, blood, and other unidentifiable substances. How sad, that Xehanort's first impression of Midgar had been marred by such a tragedy.

"It wasn't an accident," Xehanort said. "Cloud told us that Shin-Ra did it."

Ansem nodded, taking him by the arm. "He told me everything. Come, you should get cleaned up and get some sleep. You must be exhausted."

To his surprise, Xehanort shook his head. "I'm not at all tired. But cleaning up sounds wonderful."

Xehanort returned in fresh clothes borrowed from someone or other, his hair wet and his skin practically glowing. He still didn't look tired. Ansem told himself that it was just adrenaline and would wear off soon enough. Xehanort found him in his office, at the tail end of a call to Reeve. Ansem motioned for him to sit down, and he did.

"But you don't know where Shin-Ra learned this?" he went on. Over the line, he heard Reeve's sigh.

"No. They didn't tell me. I'm only a public servant, why should they tell me?"

"I understand. Thank you."

They finished their talk soon after, and Ansem rubbed a palm against his forehead as soon as he replaced the receiver.

"Reeve says that Shin-Ra learned that AVALANCHE in Midgar was based in Sector 7. He doesn't know how they learned it."

The man in the chair beside Xehanort's spoke in a low voice. "Shin-Ra's spies aren't good enough to discover that. Seventh Heaven was out primary base there, and we took all the possible precautions."

Byron was a tall and thin man with large hands. Like Ansem, he was a high-ranking member of AVALANCHE. His hair may once have been blond, but was going prematurely grey. His eyes were bright, electric blue. Xehanort often felt pinned at the other end of that piercing stare, and now he recognized that both Ansem's and Even's gazes were very much like that as well. Perhaps it was because they were all scientists.

Ansem shook his head. "Either Shin-Ra's spies have gotten better, or somebody betrayed us."

He shared a long look with Byron. Again, Xehanort felt as though he were on the outside of an understanding. He knew that Ansem and Byron had been friends since childhood. Byron, like many of AVALANCHE's members, held a deep hatred of Shin-Ra, though Xehanort didn't know Byron's individual circumstances.

Finally, they turned to him.

"How did it go?" Ansem asked. "Before... what happened."

"Braig took me to a church in the slums," Xehanort recalled first. The place stood out clearly in his mind. "And to Seventh Heaven... I had no idea that it was the base. I met Tifa and Cloud, and of course Dr. Winter. He examined me."

"What did you think of him?" Byron asked, smiling.

A few unlikely adjectives caught in Xehanort's throat as he struggled to find the right words. Both Ansem and Byron laughed.

"He has that impression on most people," Ansem said.

"He was good to me," Xehanort said. "So was Braig. Oh, and Tron, too."

"Did Even mention when he would have any information?"

Xehanort shook his head. "He didn't say." He wasn't sure whether or not he should ask, but he couldn't restrain his curiosity. Perhaps if he didn't _exactly _ask, he could still learn something. "I don't know how much time he'll have to work on it. He... he didn't look up to much when we left... I think he injected something."

Ansem's and Byron's faces clouded somewhat.

"I wonder what it was this time," Ansem murmured.

"Mako," Byron answered. His expression was impossible to read, no matter how hard Xehanort tried. "Every two weeks. If he can get his hands on some J-cells, which he always does, that will be next week."

"Did Braig tell you that Even used to work for Shin-Ra?" Ansem asked Xehanort, who straightened in his chair and nodded. "He was Dr. Hojo's favorite assistant, and his brightest student. He's been a ward of Shin-Ra all his life. He was raised to be a scientist, and at thirteen, he entered the company proper. He left six years later."

"Why did he leave?" Xehanort asked.

"Because I talked with him," Ansem said. "It was difficult to arrange a conversation with him, but with some help from my fellow AVALANCHE members, we... er... persuaded him to come and talk to me. It was no easy feat, trust me, but eventually he listened to me."

"And when he left, he took all the test subjects with him," Byron added. His smile held a touch of pride, and Xehanort resolved to discover the cause later. "Myself included."

"I'm afraid that many of our members still don't trust him," Ansem said. "_I_ would trust him with my life."

He changed the subject, choosing instead to discuss with Byron tomorrow's infiltration of Shin-Ra. Xehanort listened for some time, hoping to learn something more, but nothing that they were saying seemed interesting or important. Finally, Byron took his leave, and Xehanort took the opportunity to ask another question.

"Ansem, I was wondering... who was Aeris?"

Ansem's face darkened. Xehanort recognized the same pain he had seen in the others' faces when he had asked.

"Aeris was the last of the Cetra," he said. "The Cetra, or the Ancients, inhabited this planet long ago. They were said to have special powers. For example, they were supposedly able to speak to the Planet itself. Shin-Ra learned of an old Cetra legend regarding a 'Promised Land.' The President thought that such a place would be brimming with mako power. Aeris and her mother were captured by Shin-Ra. Eventually they managed to escape, but the lady died in the attempt. Aeris lived in the slums for years. She sold the flowers she picked in that church.

"Cloud met Aeris nine years ago. When she learned of our cause, she joined us. She was a very kind woman... she hated to fight, but she was an accomplished healer. We all loved her. She was the heart of AVALANCHE.

"And then, three years ago, the Planet spoke to her. She went off on her own... She was killed."

"Who could do such a thing?" Xehanort asked softly. Ansem closed his eyes.

"Sephiroth."

"Sephiroth?" Xehanort repeated. The name seemed familiar.

"The nightmare. The mighty SOLDIER general, created by a terrible experiment." Ansem's face was drawn. "At a young age he was the strongest man in the world, and the most feared. But he found out about his creation and went insane, destroying the town of Nibelheim. It was assumed that Sephiroth had died that day, but he's back."

"What does he want?"

"To destroy everything. Nobody knows where he is right now... there are only rumors. There is another with him."

"Who?"

"No one knows his true name, or where he came from. No one in AVALANCHE, at least." Ansem smiled humorlessly. "He calls himself Ansem, and he controls a great darkness. Together, they could destroy the Planet... are you all right?"

Xehanort's heart had made a sudden, painful leap in his chest. "I'm fine," he said, confused. "So Aeris was killed by Sephiroth?"

"Before Cloud's very eyes."

"That's why he seemed to be in such pain when he was in the church," Xehanort reflected. "Was he in love with her?"

"They were very close," Ansem answered. "Whether he loved her or not is for Cloud alone to know. He is obsessed with finding Sephiroth at all costs to avenge Aeris and his hometown."

"What?"

"Nibelheim was Cloud's and Tifa's home. He was apparently there when it happened." Ansem stood. "What happened between Cloud and Sephiroth is Cloud's business," he went on. "But now, I must insist that you go to bed, tired or not. Nothing more will happen tonight."

* * *

**A/N:** Don't forget to review!


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